Empty
by Freedom98
Summary: His own personal demons' were again softly crooning into Dean's ears. "...worthless...empty...no one stays...weak...soulless." He felt numb, never satisfied, always running...*ONESHOT*
He hunched deeper into his worn leather jacket, the sleeves going a little too far down his hands. Always had been a little too big, never fitting quite right. It wouldn't, it was meant for a bigger man. That was the story of Dean's life; he was always a little less than what he needed to be. Heck, he'd only lasted 30 years in hell whereas his father had apparently lasted forever.

The wind had a biting chill to it as Dean walked down the street of some rundown, tired town that he barely remembered entering. He had left Sam at the motel before high-tailing it out of there in the Impala. The showdown with Famine had been fairly successful but as the adrenaline of the battle had faded the emptiness had come again to replace it.

His own personal demons' were again softly crooning into Dean's ears. "... _worthless...empty...no one stays...weak..._ _ **soulless**_ _."_ Dean shook his head against the words, bringing the whiskey bottle to his lips shakily. If anyone were to observe him at this very moment, no one would have thought that he was only 30 years old, no...he had the eyes of a man much older, much wearier than he had thought he could ever be. The words of Famine came back to haunt him.

 _Dean watched as the old, liver-spotted, trembling hand reached up towards him. The ring blinked at Dean as he watched Famine twitch his hand. An excruciating pain filled his being; his entire being was being pulled, dragged and searched through. He writhed in his demon guards' big arms, knees going weak with pain. Memories of this type of pain came back, reminding him of his stay in Hell._

" _Yes...I see." Famine said with merriment, a harsh chuckle wheezing itself out of Famine's withered lips. "That's one_ _ **deep, dark nothing**_ _you've got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you..."_

Dean wrenched himself out of his reverie. Famine had confirmed what he had already suspected himself. He was _soulless,_ ever since he had returned from Hell he had feared this, taking a trip down denial road as always. But despite his denial he had known deep down in his heart, it was true. When he had broken the first seal, coming down off the rack he knew he had lost something he could never get back again. He still remembered the guilty relief of coming off the rack and being so grateful that he would never have to climb up there again. He had taken pleasure in torturing those souls as he had been tortured, knowing that he would never have to experience that pain again. He had been _good_ at his job, so very creative and sadistic.

Tears unconsciously seeped out of the emerald green eyes that were duller than ever before. He wouldn't let Sam see this, not Bobby...not even Cas. He had to do this alone, let himself break without an audience because he doesn't know if he could pick himself up again if he had someone there with him.

How could Dean keep fighting when he felt so tired, so _empty._ Famine had been right, nothing could fill this hole in his chest; not food, not drink, not sex, nothing could do it. He stared at the whiskey bottle in his hand ruefully. Half the contents of the large bottle were gone but he couldn't feel the effects. No, he just felt numb. He couldn't really feel the cold wind that bit him even through the layers of clothing he had on, he couldn't feel the pain from being hit over the head earlier that day, he couldn't even feel the despair that was consuming him.

Dean brought the whiskey bottle to his lips, letting the liquid burn down his throat. He suspected that before it might have warmed his belly but he couldn't even feel that. He wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something...but he had no energy to do so. He couldn't bring himself to do anything because he knew it wouldn't do a goddamn thing. It wouldn't make him feel better, wouldn't give him back what he had lost and sure as hell wouldn't make the emptiness go away.

He downed the rest of the bottle and threw it into the trash beside him. The leaned his head back and looked up at the dark sky. The stars blinked back at him silently, seeming to have all the answers and yet wouldn't give any of them to him.

In a while, he would get his ass up and back to the motel, back to Sammy. But right now he'd let himself be empty and broken. He'd muster up the energy to pick up the broken pieces, stitch them back together and be the big brother Sam needed right now.

When he got up, he'd have his head on straight. He'd square his shoulders, plaster a smirk on his face and get in his car and drive. He'd find a way to gank the devil; he didn't think it would save him (Nah, he knew was already lost for good) but he thought that maybe, just maybe, it might make a little of the emptiness go away...

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 _a/n: This is just a little drabble I had on my computer and never got around to publishing. I remember watching the episode and the angst that Dean had sparked this idea. I know this is an earlier season but I liked that episode, also, I know Dean's not soulless (the fact that he_ feels _empty is confirmation that he is not empty. he feels regret and pain, but I just wanted to channel the emotions he was feeling...)_

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